Crouched in the gravel driveway, Michael was searching for perfect pebbles. . Michael considered himself a good judge of what made a pebble perfect; angles were bad, he could only get one or two bounces with an angled pebble. From time to time he would come across a pebble that was so different from his understanding of pebbles that he would place it in his fifth pocket, just to see what happened when he threw it in to the oversized instant coffee tin that was his target. Michael sighed; perfect pebbles were in short order today. Deciding to make the best of what he had found, he stuffed the pockets of his faded blue jeans with those pebbles he found most useful.
As Michael snuck around the side of his weather beaten home, he took the risk of peeking through the window on the side of the house, which looked into the living room. There Grandma Muriel sat, shaking her finger at the television and letting Jerry Springer know just what she thought of transvestites. As Michael continued his stealthy journey to the backyard, he breathed a little easier, knowing that Grandma Muriel would be occupied for the rest of the afternoon.
Michael allowed himself to become fully absorbed in the placement of the instant coffee can inside of the small and grey sandbox which lay at the foot of the giant oak tree in his backyard. He decided that he was going to go up to the fifth branch today. Michael had never gone that high before, but he always enjoyed doing things that he knew he shouldn’t be able to do. Like the time he saw a middle school boy pulling the hair of a girl from his class. Michael couldn’t even remember her name but something inside of him was set aflame when he heard her cry out. Fortunately, the vice principal was too amused at the idea of this 5th grade boy chasing off a high school student with rocks to even call Michael’s mother.
Michael felt it immediately, as he placed his hand on the lowest branch of the wizened old tree; the sense that something was all together wrong with his second home. Alarmed he began to climb faster, stopping at every perch along the way to check his stashes of perfect pebbles for tampering. It was not easy finding pockets in the large oak in which to store his treasures and sometimes pesky squirrels would dig them out and replace them with acorns. As Michael was checking his deposit by the third branch, the smell hit him. It reminded him of when his mother burnt squash but there was something different about it; it was mingled with the smell of rain on hot pavement. The combination was so curious that Michael paused for a moment to inhale deeply, that was when he noticed the fine layer of silvery dust that was covering the entire tree. Slowly, painfully, Michael turned his head upward and there, inches from his tiny blue eyes was a wrinkled and filthy foot.
Michael screamed and reflexively stood up, banging his head on the branch above him and losing his balance. As gravity began to assert itself over him, Michael did the only sensible thing a falling young boy could do; he grabbed the foot and held on for dear life. To his surprise the foot was warm and tensed under his viselike grip. For a moment, the world around Michael was utterly silent. No birds sang, no cars passed, the power lines even stopped their constant hum. All that Michael could see was the slow decent of silver coated leaves and dirty feathers which the sun shone through as if to defy the filth which coated them. Then the back door slammed and a shrill voice cried out, “MICHAEL ANTHONY TANNIN, YOU GET OUT OF THAT TREE THIS INSTANT BEFORE YOU BREAK YOUR NECK!”As if to respond to the demand, there was a rustle in the tree; followed by the bellow of a grown man. No words were formed, but a distinct sense of outrage was conveyed as the full sized man with filthy white wings tumbled out of the tree with little Michael attached to his foot.
Ambri leaned her head against the window of her boyfriend’s car and watched the street signs slide past her. She sighed inwardly as she caught sight of herself in the rear view mirror. The dark circles that told the tales of all the double shifts that she was working were extra loud tonight. Her sandy blonde hair was lifeless and smelled of deep fried everything. In spite of her somewhat haggard appearance her eyes were still sharp as ever. She was tired, but at least it was payday. Ambri especially enjoyed paydays because her boyfriend, Botis, always picked her up from the Denny’s she worked at on pay day. Botis worried about her taking the bus on days when she got paid. Botis was a sweet man; he even let Ambri invest half of each of her paychecks in his savings account. One day, he promised, he would take her and Michael to the rich side of town. Ambri’s daydreaming was interrupted by a hand slowly snaking up her leg.
“Not now hun,” Ambri protested, “I promised Michael that I would watch a movie with him.”
The hand ceased its ascent. “What movie are you two going to watch?” Botis asked casually. “Michael always wants to watch war movies, but I was hoping to get one more Disney movie out of him before he out grows it.” Ambri mused “Do you think we could stop by the rental store before you drop me off?”
“Nothing would bring me greater joy, my dear.” Botis grinned, never taking his eyes off of the road. Ambri frowned as the hand started moving again.
Muriel’s hands were shaking as she pecked out the numbers on the phone.
Nine
“What am I supposed to say to them?” she thought to herself; “Hi, this is Muriel Tennin over on 5th street, my grandson fell out of a tree with a hobo angel and now they won’t get up.” “These people are going to lock me up!”
One
What am I going to tell Ambri? “Yes dear, while you were out slutting around with your worthless con artist boyfriend an angel attacked Michael.”
Ambri was staring out the window again, only this time she couldn’t see her face in the rearview because it was dark outside. She clutched the copy of, “Lady and the Tramp” in her hands and thought about what to make for dinner. Suddenly, the car screeched to a halt, flinging debris from the back seat forward and further disheveling Ambri’s hair. As Ambri opened her mouth to ask what was going on, she saw the lights at her house. There were vehicles laying siege to her home, half a block deep. Police cars, ambulances and strange looking vans with satellite dishes were scattered all about.
Botis leaned over her and opened her door, pushing it wide. “I will go find a place to park. You go on ahead to see what happened.”
He growled the words as if he sounded annoyed. Ambri, who was too shocked to reply, stumbled out of the car, still clutching her copy of “Lady and the Tramp.” As she began running towards her home, she heard the screech of tires as Botis sped off in to the night.
As Michael opened his eyes all he could see was a blinding white light. He felt lighter than air and leaned forward, as if to fly into the light would require no more effort than that. Then he heard a man’s voice cry out, and the light suddenly vanished. The man leaning over him was stuffing something into the breast pocket of his paramedic uniform.
Then his mother was there, picking him up in spite of the protests of the paramedics.
“Mom, I saw an angel. I think I was dead.” Michael said softly.
Michael heard his mother take a deep shuddering breath as she put him down. The man with the paramedic uniform was talking to his mother and pointing at his head. For some reason Michael could not focus on the words the man was saying. Then he noticed his shirt lying on the ground. It was cut up the middle, half covered in blood and completely coated in silvery powder. Michael’s eyes widened as he realized that the angel was real!
Michael tugged on his mother’s sleeve, “Mom, can I see the angel?” Both adults immediately stopped talking and looked at him with wide eyes.
“Marfugo day wisa poh doo?” His mother asked him.
Michael rubbed his head and felt the stitches. The pain from just touching them made him swoon and the world went black.
The events of the next month left the entire Tennin family reeling. Most of it was due to Grandma Muriel’s actions after her breathless call to 911. The operator was skeptical as to the old woman’s story and had not made sending assistance a priority. During the hour that passed, Grandma Muriel made no less than 47 phone calls. She started with friends and acquaintances, but finding her little black book lacking, soon found herself on the phone with local media and even the Jerry Springer hotline! Apparently, Jerry had been trying to put a show together on real life angels for quite some time now and her story was fantastic enough to lead it! Before the men from the child welfare office arrived at her home, she had already taken several dozen Polaroid pictures of the angel and young boy together, surrounded by silvery dust, feathers, and an instant coffee tin.
The interviews alone kept Muriel and Ambri busy for the next two weeks. Botis returned the very next morning, after seeing the newspaper, to help the family make sure that they got their fair share of all the money which was suddenly flying every which way(minus a modest 10% management fee). The Polaroid photos were the only images of the angel which were available to the public, the rights to which were purchased by the “Never Blink” instant coffee company, whose can was present in half of the images. The sum of all their profits from the pictures and interviews was in the seven digit range and almost all of the family reveled in their good fortune; except for Michael. Michael refused to do interviews; he would not leave his room no matter how much he was coaxed. Even Ambri, whom he worshipped, could not persuade him no matter what she offered. Michael just sat on his bed, listening to the radio coverage of what the world was now calling, “Proof of Heaven.”
At the end of that month a series of heavy footsteps, made their way to Michael’s room; followed by three soft taps on his door. Michael did not stir from his bed. Twenty minutes passed with no footsteps leading away and no additional tapping. Curiosity finally got the better of Michael; he cracked the door and peeked out. Michael found himself staring at a computer tablet with a live feed of the angel on it. The angel was staring directly at Michael; he looked tired like his mom used to.
“May I come in, young man?” A gruff voice intoned.
Michael took a step back from the door to allow the man in. He was a wiry man with sleek hair, in a black suit with shiny shoes.
“My name is Mr.Beleth. I am in charge of your friend here.” He said with a forced attempt at a smile. Mr.Beleth did not appear to be very well practiced at smiling.
“I have been talking with your mother and it seems as if you and our mutual friend here have a few things in common.” Mr.Beleth said.
Michael brightened up when he heard Mr.Beleth call the angel his friend.
“Oh!” Michael exclaimed, “Like what?”
“Well,” Mr.Beleth began, “Neither one of you seems to want to talk about what happened, or anything else for that matter, and you are both going to be seeing a lot of me until that changes.”
Michael had seen this type of man before, when he watched war movies after mom went to bed. This was a man who got answers in the end. Michael knew how to deal with this type of man; he swallowed hard, stood up straight, looked him right in the eye and said, “I have never seen that man before and I would like to see my attorney.”
The smile that Mr.Beleth grew upon hearing this seemed more genuine. Mr.Beleth hunched down so that he was eye level with Michael.
“Look Michael, I can be a reasonable man. You want to see the angel, right? Well, I have things that I need too. I need to know why he is here. For Christ’s sake we have a few thousand fanatics clogging the streets in Washington, demanding to see the “angel.” Mr.Beleth sneered when he said the word, “angel.”
Michael, being the observant young boy that he is noticed this and asked; “You don’t think he is an angel do you?”
Mr.Beleth grimaced, “Son, I was raised Roman Catholic. If you told my mother that angels smelled like burnt vegetables and sewage, she would whip you until you couldn’t sit down for dinner. That is not even the worst of it; he defecates on himself and does not seem to care in the least. He doesn’t speak a word of Latin, he is covered in lice and most of his teeth are missing. Whenever we try to clean him up he makes these noises. We have had language experts in from all over the world and none of them can make heads or tails of it.” Mr.Beleth let out a long sigh. “You seem like a smart kid, you have to realize that you were not my first choice for this. In fact, you are the last stop on the train before it runs off the tracks if you know what I mean.”
In truth, Michael did not know what most of that last statement meant. Something about trains, (grownups make absolutely no sense sometimes) but Michael did recognize the look in the man’s eyes from all those war movies. If Michael did not find some way to talk to the angel, Mr.Beleth was going to kill it. Michael looked desperately at the tablet, where the angel was staring back at him, its index finger buried to the second knuckle in its right nostril.
“Who is Lilith and what exactly did you do for her last night that she is thanking you for?” Ambri asked in a confused tone as Michael walked into the kitchen. Botis snatched the new cell phone out of Ambri’s hands and it quickly disappeared in to one of the many pockets of his new Italian suit.
“I told you not to read my texts!” Botis snapped at Ambri. “How am I supposed to tell which ones I have read when you keep sifting through them and marking them all as read?”
“You still have not answered my question.” Ambri said coolly eyeing Botis.
“If you must know she runs the limo service I hired to take Michael to the base today.” Botis said after a contemplative sip of instant coffee.
“Oh don’t worry about that;” Michael chimed in helpfully “Mr.Beleth is having a real army jeep sent to pick me up!”
Grandma Muriel laughed so hard that she almost spilled instant coffee on her Jerry Springer sweatshirt.
Michael swallowed hard as the heavy iron door slammed behind him. As he looked across the dark and cold room at the angel, he studied it. It seemed ancient, like nursing home ancient. The beginnings of a beard were forming on its wrinkled chin. Its sagging chest had even more hair than its face and head combined, but it was hard to tell because it was matted with dirt and other various forms of filth. Its eyes were unfocused and its head lolled around like Botis’s head did sometimes when he came in late and caught him watching war movies. Michael wanted to leave; he wanted to run as far away as he could get from this terrifying thing.
As he took a step backwards, Mr.Beleth’s voice came over the intercom, “Is everything all right in there, son?”
The voice was enough to remind Michael what would happen if he ran away. Michael nodded and waved his hand, and began to walk slowly towards the angel. The smell got monumentally worse with each step. Finally Michael was hunched near the angel. The angel’s eyes did not focus on him at all, but it seemed to relax. Its breathing became easier and its head stopped its incessant rolling. Michael tried whispering to it, he tried singing and telling stories. He even tried showing it some of his favorite pebbles. No response from the angel. After several hours, Michael began to cry softly. This elicited a response from the angel, who for the first time, looked directly at him with what appeared to be understanding. At least that’s how Michael felt when he received the gaze. They stared at one another for another full hour before the heavy iron door opened and Mr.Beleth entered.
“Well kid, what is going on? I didn’t bring you here so you could make sappy eyes at each other. The fanatics I told you about, they are outside and they are starting to get rowdy.” Mr.Beleth lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall.
Michael walked up to Mr.Beleth, swallowed hard, stood up straight, looked him right in the eye and said, “Get me some soapy water and a sponge . While I clean him up get a stage ready so that he can talk to the people.”
Mr.Beleth laughed, “What are you playing at kid?”
“He told me that he wants to talk to the people, but he is embarrassed about how he looks and smells. “Michael said staring evenly in to Mr.Beleth’s eyes. “He won’t let anyone wash him but me, because he has chosen me to help him.”
“He never said a word to you, kid. I was there the whole time, listening.” Mr.Beleth said, seeming a little less comfortable than he had moments ago.
“If he wanted to talk to you, I wouldn’t have had to come here.” Michael said patiently, as if speaking to an invalid.
Mr.Beleth paused for a full minute; glancing back and forth between Michael and the angel. The silence was broken by the bark of the radio that Mr.Beleth wore on his hip. Cursing, Mr.Beleth tore it off of his hip and put it to his ear. After a moment, he lowered it and replaced it on his belt next to his sidearm.
“Alright kid, your “angel” is gonna get his shot. You have twenty minutes to get him presentable.”
The iron door slammed shut.
As Michael crossed the stage, holding the angel’s hand, he searched the crowd. He saw thousands of faces, all cheering and chanting. Michael turned his attention to the dozen soldiers guarding the stage. He examined their stances, the way they were holding their assault rifles. Some of them shifted their weight back and forth while others stood stock still. Some had locked knees while others were keeping theirs lightly bent. Some looked at the crowd while others looked at faces in the crowd. After a few seconds that passed like hours for Michael, he had found the perfect soldier.
Mr.Beleth had bound the angel’s wings at the base, near his back. When Michael protested, Mr.Beleth said, “Well we can’t have him flying away and we can’t have him in shackles. We don’t want to look like monsters, now do we?”
Ambri was more excited than she had ever been in her life. Not only would she never have to work again, but her son was responsible for bringing the word of heaven to the world. She stood proudly in the front row, beaming as her precious Michael held the hand of God’s messenger and led him to the microphone laden podium. For the first time since she had arrived earlier that morning, the crowd was silent. She tightened her grip on Botis’s hand. Every eye firmly attached to the sagely looking angel who stood, somewhat shakily, at the podium. Long minutes passed and the angel just stared out at them, its wings twitching ever so slightly. Finally, just as its mouth opened, a soldier cried out, clutching his ankle where her little Michael had just landed a rock with some rather wicked looking edges. As he stumbled, Michael swiftly removed his field knife and ran to the angel. The other soldiers reacted moving towards Michael, but it was too late. Even as the rifle butt connected with his head, Michael succeeded in severing the bindings. Before Michael’s unconscious form hit the stage, the angel was in flight. Some of the soldiers began to take aim. The crowd reacted immediately, hurling stones and themselves at the stage. Panicked, some of the younger soldiers started firing into the crowd. Botis quickly pushed Ambri in front of him, to act as a shield, but he used too much force and succeeded only in throwing her prone and flat in front of him. The barrage of bullets that slammed in to him knocked him clean out of his imported sheepskin shoes. The last thing Ambri remembered seeing before she fainted was the angel gliding off in to the clouds.
